When Your Savior Becomes A Teenager
by Belicia Zarita
Summary: After Survivor Series '09, Undertaker wants a mysterious power in Jericho's soul...but not as it is now, as it was 20 years ago! Leaving a teenage Jericho in need of unlikely protection from Matt, Miz, and more! Some drama/action/adventure too!
1. Chapter 1

Chris Jericho made his way into his dressing room, grumbling as he slung his tag titles aside on top of his bags. The night hadn't gone anyhow how he had expected, or how he'd wanted, or expected. The entire evening had been an infuriating waste of time the likes of which he hadn't experienced in all his days.

He had expected that Big Show would be able to do his part and help him to gain the title from the Undertaker, but instead, as per always with this team, the giant bastard had screwed things up for them both, and Undertaker had walked away with the championship-that he didn't deserve!-and he was left without what was rightfully his.

Jericho all but snarled as he paced the locker room a moment, then walked over and snapped the lock of the door into place. He knew Big Show would be along shortly, but he was still furious at his tag partner, and quite frankly, he needed alone time before trying to deal with the big bastard. And it would do Show well to cool his heels and think about what he'd done, and what he'd cost them both.

After a quick shower...washing away the stink of failure, he thought of it...Jericho took his immaculately pressed gray suit, shirt, and tie, getting dressed, combing and styling his hair, making sure everything was in place. Even if he'd just been cost his title, he knew he needed to put forth a strong front. It wouldn't do for anyone to dare and think that they could compare him with the enormous parasites that slugged their way about on the outside...he was better than them, always and forever, and he wouldn't give even-

The lights of the dressing room abruptly winked out, plunging him into complete darkness just as he'd finished knotting his tie, and Jericho grunted, grabbing at the sink in front of him to keep his bearing, gritting his teeth. "Big Show, I don't know how you got that door open, but this wasn't funny the other night and it's not funny-,"

A giant hand abruptly latched around his throat, and Jericho grunted as he was yanked backwards, spun around, then slammed back against the mirror, hearing the glass crack under his spine at the force of the impact.

"Chris...Jericho..." a deep voice drawled slightly, and Jericho's eyes widened as he realized that voice wasn't the one of his giant tag team partner, but rather the voice of another, entirely less friendly giant. The lights abruptly winked back on and confirmed his fear...the Undertaker was standing there, holding Jericho against the wall by one hand, almost nose-to-nose with him. Jericho grunted, kicking and squirming, trying to wriggle his way loose, but he could barely get any air, let alone make an escape of any kind. He tried to demand to be released immediately, but the only thing that came out of him was the gagging intake of air.

"You have been a thorn in my side for quite some time now, Chris Jericho." Undertaker continued, still glaring at the smaller man, seeming to use almost effortless strength in keeping him in place. "But I've done some looking into you, Chris. I've explored your very soul and I've discovered something very important about you...a very special power inside of you that I desire as my own." Undertaker leaned back slightly. "I cannot take it as you are, Chris, but I do have a way to be sure that your power will become mine..."

Jericho grunted and struggled, trying to get away, but he froze when Undertaker's dark eyes abruptly changed...going completely pure white, almost seeming to glow. He began to snarl bizarre sounds...almost like words, but in no language like Jericho had ever heard, and a cold, violent wind seemed to kick up around them in the locker room. Jericho squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught, but then it was bizarre, like the cold outside had suddenly shifted to Undertaker's hand, and then started to try and flow through his body...iciness roiling through his veins even as he tried to fight it any way he could, not knowing how, but the feelings were overwhelming, and even though he couldn't make a sound, he screamed...

( )

Mike "the Miz" Mizanin glanced down at his watch as he walked through the backstage area, unable to help a smirk that was plastered to his face as he went. It was late and he was rather tired after the match tonight, and he doubtless would have a lot of bullshit to deal with tomorrow, but his mood couldn't have been better. He'd just proven, once and for all, who of the old "MizMo" team was the better man, and he'd done it in as nearly flawless a way as could be done, with his handpicked team easily dominating his old buddy Morrison's group of lame losers.

That had been Johnny's big problem, of course...the team he'd selected was chosen for something as goofy as "friendship." Oh, Miz supposed a couple of them weren't complete slouches...Shelton had his moments and Finlay had, once upon a time long ago, carried a vicious mean streak. But Miz had chosen people for their ability, for their power and skill, even though they were people he would never have associated with even if they were paying him to. His team were all winners, and Morrison's team...well, they weren't.

Miz started to round a corner and very nearly collided into one of the very men he had just been debating...Matt Hardy, who was pulling a rolling suitcase behind him and holding a bag of ice to his head. "Oh, look," Miz said, the smarmy grin even audible in his voice. "Here I was just thinking about you, Matt. How is your head? Obviously the love of a million of Jeff's residual fangirls does nothing for the pain."

"Not now, Miz, I'm not in the mood," Matt grumbled, starting to push past him.

"Not in the mood for what? Obviously not in the mood for winning, or being in shape, you fatty fat fat." Miz grinned and struck a mock Hogan pose. "Wait, wait, that's not right, you'd want..." Miz paused, pretending to consider. "What kind of posturing did Bastian Booger do, again?"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha." Matt rolled his eyes. "This coming from the guy who used to have a purple fauxhawk."

"Ohhh, good comeback. This of course, coming from a middle-aged guy who's hairline is receding faster than his guts are expanding."

"And it's just going to be all the more embarrassing for you, the young, fit guy, when you get your ass kicked by the fat, bald middle-aged guy." Matt tossed down the ice pack and his bag, and Miz quickly took a couple steps back.

"Whoa, there, Assy McGee. You've already had your butt whupped pretty fierce once tonight. You wanting to make it two for two?"

"Yeah, why not? At the very least I'll put a few more bruises on that supposed pretty-boy face you think you have happening." Matt started to roll up the sleeves of his work shirt.

"Hey, whoa, come on, now, Matt. You lost tonight, just deal with it. You got no chance against the Miz, man, it's just a matter of fact. Because I'm-,"

"If you say 'I'm awesome' then I'm going to start hitting you and I do not think I will be able to stop myself."

Miz rolled his eyes a little. "You are no fun at all, Hardy. At least your brother could put up some kind of decent fight, you just roll over on your fat belly and-,"

There was a sudden shrill scream from somewhere further down the hall, and a series of thumps and crashes as though there was a tremendous battle going on. Miz and Matt stared at each other in wide-eyed silence for a moment, then turned as one and bolted towards the sounds.

"Sounds like someone else is gonna be coming out on the losing end of the night," Miz snickered.

"Just shut up and hurry, it sounds like someone's getting-,"

As they went to round a corner, there was a loud WHUMP, and Miz grunted as he collided with someone hard enough to knock them both flat to the floor.

"-mauled..." Matt finished, skidding to a stop. "You all right, fauxhawk?"

"Shut up, fatty, yes, I'm fine." Miz sat up, rubbing the back of his head, wincing. "What the hell?"

"Please help me!" a voice yelped, and Miz grunted again as the thing that had hit him-what seemed like a young man with long blonde hair and wearing an oversized, rumpled and torn gray suit-was abruptly all but in his lap, arms around his neck, clutching at him desperately, shivering in fear. "Please help me, please, he's gonna get me!"

"Whoa, all right, hey..." Miz said, holding up his hands, eyes wide. "I can tell that's a guy, hey."

Matt chuckled faintly, then turned at the sound of someone stomping up behind him, and turned to see Undertaker, looking more furious than Matt had ever seen him, enough that Matt unconsciously took a step back. "Um, hey, Taker..." he said, holding up a hand. "What is, uh...?"

"Get out of my way, Hardy," Undertaker snarled in a low voice. "This does not concern you."

The young man clinging to Miz whimpered and clung tighter, even as Miz tried to push him away. "Don't let him get me, please don't let him get me!"

Miz grunted, alternately moving his hands to try and push the kid away and holding them up as though afraid to touch him, as Matt stayed, somewhat hesitantly, between them and Undertaker. "Hey, Taker, calm down, man, let's talk about this," he said, holding his hands up a little.

"This does not concern you," Undertaker repeated, stopping and pointing at the young man, almost visibly seething. "It is a matter between him and me."

Matt glanced back at the young man, then at Undertaker. "Look, I think he's scared enough, he''s learned his lesson. Why don't you just let us take him outta your sight, away from here someplace, he'll never do it again whatever it was, and-,"

Undertaker grabbed hold of Matt's throat, sneering a moment before flinging him bodily into the wall, then turned his attention to Miz, who was still unsuccessfully trying to pry the whimpering person away from him. "Give him back to me right now," he growled.

"Yeah, you know, it wouldn't be a problem and anything, but seriously, you know, it's like...dude, get _off_ me," Miz muttered, scooting back as much to get distance from the angry Undertaker as to wriggle away from the kid.

"Please! Please don't let him get me!"

Undertaker snarled, starting to reach out for the young man. "Give him back to me now or there will be very serious repercussions for you, Mike Mizanin."

"Look, Taker, I think he's plenty freaked enough, and I don't really wanna be in your way, believe me," Miz said, scooting away even as he was trying to pry off the blonde. "Come on, seriously, guy, get off!"

Undertaker started to draw back his fist, and Miz squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow, quietly hating everyone involved, but there was a metallic WHACK, and Undertaker grunted and staggered forward against the wall. Miz glanced up to see Matt following after him, still wielding the chair, and smacked it into the larger man's back several more times, until Undertaker was on the ground. He hit Undertaker a couple more times, then threw the chair down at him, turning and grabbing Miz, pulling him to his feet despite the fact that Miz was still more or less cradling the stranger. "Come on, let's get outta here!"

Miz dropped the blonde onto his feet and started running with Matt back down the hall, dragging the youngster behind him whether or not he was going to run. "This is some serious bullshit!"

Matt didn't seem to acknowledge the sentiment as he pulled ahead and swooped down at the point where he and Miz had dropped their bags, snatching them up and continuing to run, down the hall, around a couple of corners, and finally into the parking lot. Here Miz started to come to a stop.

"Dude, my car is over-,"

"Forget your car, we're taking my car and if Taker doesn't come around and kill us, we can come back for your car!"

"Now wait, I never said I wanted and I don't want any part of-!"

"I have your bag!"

"...well _fuck_ a _duck_!" Miz took off after Matt, pulling the guy behind him, as Matt got to a red sedan, unlocking the doors and throwing the bags into the passenger's seat, while Miz yanked open the back door and dove in, pulling the guy in after him, reaching over to pull the door closed. Matt slammed the key into the ignition and almost immediately threw the car into drive, peeling out of the parking lot and onto the street with a fairly blatant disregard for a silver minivan he cut off, blaring the horn and tearing down the road until the arena was well in their back mirrors.

"You guys okay back there?" Matt asked, glancing back at them. "Dude, you all right now?"

"Mm-hmm..." the guy whimpered, sniffling, obviously still pretty scared, but he managed to scoot away from Miz and sit on his own in the seat, hugging himself. "Th-thank you..."

"Hey, don't mention it. It's what we do. Well, what I do and what Miz does when sufficiently kicked in the ass."

"I'll kick you in the ass. Nice big target to aim for, too."

Matt rolled his eyes, but finally glanced back towards the strange new guy who was huddled in the other part of the backseat, practically curled into a ball and shaking like a leaf. "Hey, man, are you all right?"

The guy hesitantly raised his head, looking at them, and both Matt and Miz flinched at the sight of him. He looked young, 18 or so at the most, only a kid, really, with long, slightly curly blonde hair and wide, frightened blue eyes. His gray suit was even bigger than it had first appeared, all but hanging off him, and torn and rumpled as though he'd been through a violent battle. Which, considering who they'd just taken him away from, wasn't far out of the question. But there was something else about him as well, something that Matt knew wasn't only apparent to him when Miz spoke up in an incredulous voice.

"Is...is that...Jericho?"

Matt shook his head slowly, glancing back, then turned his attention back to the road. "I'm gonna get to the hotel and we can stop and figure this out there behind a locked door. This is definitely something crazy going on."

"No doubt about it, Fat Hardy..." Miz replied, though there was no real malice to his voice, as he simply exchanged a freaked out stare with the newcomer, wondering what fresh hell he'd gotten into this time.


	2. Chapter 2

Matt paced back and forth in the hotel room, shaking his head a little. They'd fled to the nearest hotel, the one where Miz had his reservations, and were now holed up in his room, trying to figure out what to do next. Matt was pacing from the wall to the bathroom door and back again, and Miz was sitting in a chair next to the window, rubbing his temples as though nursing a massive headache. Though at the moment, that wasn't all that unlikely. And the kid, whoever he was, was sitting on the bed, hugging his knees against his chest, looking back and forth between them as they talked about him.

"He can't be Jericho," Miz said for easily the tenth time. "It's not possible."

"There's no other explanation, though," Matt replied. "He looks so much like him, he's the spitting image of what Jericho looked like at that age. There's pictures in his book, on his website, I've seen them. That's him!"

"That's impossible," Miz growled. "Yeah, it looks like him, but Jericho is nearly forty years old. That right there probably can't even vote yet."

"Well Undertaker was doing something to him." Matt stopped his pacing, hands on his hips, looking at the kid, who looked back in wide-eyed silence. "You were there. Taker wanted him bad. He was up to something and it was something he was willing to kick all three of our asses to get."

"Taker never needs an excuse to kick someone's ass. Especially not a member of your family."

"Yeah, well, he's probably not fond of you either. But he wouldn't just attack some innocent kid unless he had a reason. So this can't just be some passerby who just so happens to look exactly like Jericho and just so happened to stagger into pissing off the Undertaker."

"So, okay, what are you trying to say happened here?"

"Okay, well, bear with me here. Taker's always been capable of some weird shit. I mean, you know about the Ministry and sacrifices and all that junk."

"Sort of like in the time period you and your brother spent being vampires with Gangrel?"

"That has nothing to do with anything. But you have to admit Taker's got some freakiness involved. So I think, what happened here, is that he kidnapped Jericho to try and do something awful to him, probably for revenge for you know, daring to challenge his power or some evil villain thing like that, but Jericho escaped before it went all the way so now he's, like...this."

Miz nodded slowly. "Okay, okay, I get what you're saying there, I got it. Just, um, a couple of things."

"Okay..."

"First of all, my name's not Harry and you don't have red hair and half a dozen siblings, so, I'm pretty sure we don't live in a world where that kind of stuff can happen, and second...uh, no, actually, that's pretty much it. Are you _high_, Matt? Are you genuinely implying that Undertaker voodoo witch doctored Jericho into a teenager?"

"All right, Mike, if you're so smart, then why don't you try and figure out what happened here?"

"Don't call me Mike. I think it's obvious that whoever this kid is, he's just some relative of Jericho's, like his twin brother or a nephew or an identical cousin or something like that, and this is all just some really elaborate prank that we've been suckered right into."

"Okay, now I have a couple of things with your stuff. First of all, Jericho's an only child, and second, there's no such thing as identical cousins."

"Oh, there's no such thing as idential cousins, but you think there's such a thing as someone being able to de-age another human being."

Matt had to pause at that, and scratched his chin a moment, contemplating. Miz smirked a little as he settled back in the chair, propping his feet up on the bed and looking at the kid, who was fussing slightly at his oversized dress shirt, but still just listening quietly to the discussion.

"Okay, okay, Miz, I'll give you that," Matt finally said. "But I'm countering you with this. What do you think is more likely...that the Undertaker has any kind of magic power that he could use to de-age someone for some evil purpose, or that he would participate in any kind of practical joke against anybody, _ever_, especially having to work with Jericho who he hates because Jericho tried to steal his title?"

It was Miz's turn to consider, but his face clearly showed his displeasure with the entire thing. "I guess you have a point..."

"I know I have a point. But look, okay, I understand the skepticism. So maybe what we need to do is try to find adult Jericho. If we can track him down, then we can eliminate the de-aged theory."

"All right." Miz got to his feet. "That sounds like something for you. Meantime, I'm exhausted from winning so damn much. I'm going to grab a shower."

"Whoa, wait, you're involved in this, man. Undertaker knows you ran off with his little prize too. Whether you like it or not, you're a part of this."

"Ha ha, no. See, I could just as easily call up Taker and say 'Hey, come get your rat out of my room,' and that'd be that."

"Right, because Undertaker is clearly the most sensible and clear-headed of individuals and wouldn't smack you around regardless."

Miz threw his hands up in the air in obvious frustration. "This is all your fault."

"All my fault? How is this all my fault?"

"You were the one who had to get involved. Standing in between him and Undertaker and playing the big heroic role like you're...like...like I don't like what but I would have been just fine with letting it happen!"

"Yeah, well, that's the difference between you and me, Mike. I try to do the right thing!"

"Don't call me Mike. And yeah, you do the right thing. So long as it doesn't involve burning your brother's shit to the ground and trying to murder him!"

Matt stuck a finger in Miz's face. "Don't you even start with that, Mike. I've been making my amends to Jeff and that's all between him and me anyway. This is completely different."

"Doesn't seem too different to me. You've got a guilt complex a mile wide and ten miles long and you're trying to make yourself feel better by protecting all the little people."

"It's the right thing to do, Mike, and you know it."

"Stop calling me Mike!"

"Stop being a little dipshit and I will!"

"Ummm..." The two of them looked over to the bed, where the kid had scooted over and stood a little hesitantly, holding out his hands. "P-please stop...I'm sorry...I...I think this is all my fault more than anything else..." He ran a hand through his long hair, pulling at it some, staring down at the floor. "I don't know h-how I got here or how I...where I am or...why that guy was so mad at me before, but I think I did somethin' bad..."

"No, no no no," Matt said, stepping over and putting his hands on the kid's shoulders. "You haven't done anything wrong, okay? There's just...some confusion right now about what's happening and how you got here and everything. But we're working on that, okay? We'll get to the bottom of this and you'll be all right, okay?" He smiled reassuringly. "Miz and I are going to take care of you."

"Oh for God's sakes..." Miz grumbled, shaking his head.

"Won't we, Miz." Matt glared over at him, narrowing his eyes. It wasn't phrased as a question.

"Fine, fine. I guess you're right and I'm stuck being involved in this. But I don't like it one little bit."

Matt rolled his eyes, but turned to his bag, digging through it. "Okay, if anyone would know where adult Jericho would be, it'd be Big Show. So I'm gonna go call him and see if he's seen him. You...stay here and babysit."

"What? Why do I have to babysit?"

"Because I called it." Matt smirked, taking his cell phone and going to the door, stepping out into the hallway before Miz could protest.

"Motherfucker." Miz shook his head, turning, and met the kid's eyes. "All right, you're old enough not to kill yourself while I'm in the shower, I'm sure. Do you know how to order room service?"

"Um...uh-huh..."

"Okay, good. I want steak. That insane redneck outside probably wants his steak with extra fat. So just...order us like, three steak dinners and whatever comes with it because he's paying, all right?"

"Oh...okay, uh, Mr., um, Miz."

Miz raised an eyebrow. "Just Miz is fine. Go do that, I'll be in the bathroom."

The kid nodded, turning and going over to the phone, still pulling at the collar of his dress shirt. Miz rolled his eyes, then went and dug in his bag a moment, taking out a change of clothes for himself, then pulling out a pair of jeans and throwing them over.

"Those might be more your size, and I'm sure the insane redneck has a shirt in his bag that'll be ten sizes too big for you but should still be fine. Go ahead and get comfortable."

"Oh...thank you Mister...uh, I mean, thank you, Miz..."

Miz sighed, turning and heading into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it for good measure, just in case.

( )

Matt stood in the hallway, one hand in his pocket while listening to the ringing at the other end of the phone. Big Show was taking his sweet time answering, but finally, on the sixth ring, he picked up.

"What?" the big man said in annoyance. "This better be important!"

"Um, hey, Show, it's, uh, Matt," Matt said, making a face.

"Spit it out, Hardy, I'm busy."

"Okay. Is Jericho with you right now?"

"No, he's not. I don't know where he is right now and that's kind of the problem."

"What do you mean?" Matt asked, shifting his weight and crossing his arms, still managing to hold the phone to his ear.

"I mean he's missing and it looks bad. When I got back to the locker room, his stuff was all still in there, spread all over the place, and the place was wrecked. Mirror broke, lockers knocked over, everything. And when I say his stuff was in there, I mean everything, even the belts."

"Even the belts?" Matt repeated, wincing a bit. There was no way in hell Jericho would abandon the belts. His clothes, his belongings, maybe, but the title? It wasn't in his make-up. That was a bad sign.

"Yeah. I don't know if you know, but I know that Chris would never just leave his belts laying around." Matt made a face and nodded as though Big Show could see the reaction. "His tights and boots are here, most of his clothes, his wallet, all his stuff, but he's gone and from the looks of it, there was a fight." Big Show's voice suddenly took on a dangerous tone. "Why are you asking, anyway?"

"Uhhh...yeah, well, see, I was um, leaving, and uh, um..." Matt winced a little.

"You don't know where he is, do you? Or do you have something to do with this?"

"No, no! Of course not! I just, um..." Matt let out the first thing he could think of. "I just uh, found his jacket, that's all, thought, uh, he might want it back, but yeah, you know, if he's missing, uh-,"

"You found his jacket? Where did you find it? Who's all there? Maybe someone there knows something!"

"Oh fuck-uh, I mean, no, no, no one's here but me and I don't know anything about it! I just found it here, I swear!"

"Well, where's 'here'? That's the only thing like a clue I have!"

"Uhhhh, the hotel, but I'm sure he's not here, I haven't seen him..."

"Well, I'm coming there to look, which hotel is it? If I find him, and I find out who has him, oh God, there's gonna be some major squishing going on...especially if anything's happened to him..."

"Oh, crap, uh, hey, you know, I have to go but hey, I hope you find him, good luck!" Matt quickly hit the disconnect button before Big Show could say anything else, and winced. "Oh shit, that was a mistake."

He jumped as the phone began to ring again, but quickly reached down and hit the off button, knowing it was Big Show calling him back. He then headed back into the hotel room, going in and shutting the door behind him, then throwing the deadbolt.

"Is everything okay?" a soft voice came from behind him, and he turned to see the kid standing there, wearing a pair of jeans that were just slightly too large, but still better fitting than the large suit. Matt blinked at the sight of how small he really was...decently muscled, the way an athletic teenage boy would be, but still rather gangly and thin, probably a good 50 pounds lighter than the Jericho he knew. He could also hear water running behind the bathroom door, and figured Miz had gone to get that shower.

"Um, yeah. Miz lend you those?"

"Uh-huh. He told me to order some room service and that you'd have a shirt I could borrow..."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Matt turned to his bag and dug through it, taking out a red t-shirt with some black spirals and patterns on it, handing it to him. "It might be a little big on you, but it'll be all right."

"Thanks..." He pulled it on, brushing it down a little. "So...can I ask you about where I am now?"

Matt went over and sat on the bed, gesturing for the kid to sit down. "Well, let me ask you...where should you be right now?"

He chewed his lip a little. "W-Winnipeg..."

Matt nodded. "Well, right now you're in Washington D.C."

The kid's eyes went even wider, if that were possible. "In the U.S.?"

"Yeah...but it's okay, don't worry. Things are fine." Matt smiled some. "One more thing, though, okay? Just humor me. What year do you think it is?"

The kid stared at him for a second. "Whuh...what do you mean? What year?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just an idle question."

There was a long silence while they stared at each other, and finally the kid answered him, the response causing Matt's own eyes to get substantially larger."

"It's 1989..."


	3. Chapter 3

Matt chewed a fingernail as he stared at the kid, who stared back at him, both of them completely silent for a while. Finally, Matt spoke up again.

"You said 1989?"

The kid nodded slowly. "Y-yeah...November, um...almost my birthday, I'm...I'm gonna be 19 soon...going to wrestling school at The Hart Dungeon when I'm done with school."

Matt scratched his nose some. "Yeah, okay. That sounds pretty awesome."

"So, uh...mister Matt...why am I in Washington D.C.? And who are you and Miz and...was that big guy back there...he looked familiar..."

Matt winced a little. "Well...we're kind of still working on figuring that out ourselves...Chris, right?" The kid nodded, and Matt smiled and nodded slightly. "Okay, well, in the meantime, you're safe with Mike and me, and we can make sure the big mean guy won't do anything else to hurt you, okay?"

"Okay..."

Matt nodded a bit, then looked over as the bathroom door clicked open, and Miz stepped out, wearing a pair of red shorts and a white tank top, rubbing at his hair with a towel. "Food here yet?" he mumbled, his free hand on his hip as the other kept up the hair drying.

"No, not yet..." Matt got to his feet, grabbing hold of Miz's arm and pulling him over a little, whispering to him. Miz blinked as he did.

"What? 1989? Well where the hell would he get an idea like that?"

Matt shrugged some. "Look, he's checking out so far. The birthday, the school stuff, all that. It's all in Chris's book, I've read it and the details are matching up."

"You read that whole huge thing? God, you need a date worse than I thought."

"Shut up. I also got off the phone with Big Show and he says Jericho is missing...adult Jericho. All his things are still in the arena, including his tag belts. And he's on a freakin' rampage looking for Chris and um, yeah, by the way...he might be coming looking for us now so...yeah."

Miz slapped a hand to his forehead, then shook his head and shrugged. "Okay, so just tell him that Undertaker de-aged his buddy and we've got the teenager here and make him come take care of it. He has a better chance than us of beating up Undertaker anyway."

"Look, you don't even believe what's going on here, so why would Big Show? He'll just think we're trying to pull a fast one and beat the shit out of us for wasting his time."

Miz dropped his things on his gym bag, looking over at the kid, who was still sitting on the bed, watching them silently, then Miz shifted his gaze back to Matt. "So just to be sure I've got all this straight. You've assigned us the matter of babysitting what...if just for the sake of convenience, I'll allow myself to accept...is the teenage version from the past of one of our coworkers who's at current, a rampaging dickhead, and who has an enormous, pissed-off boyfriend who is coming looking for us, _and_ has a man after him who's just about as big _and_ twice as scary _and_ potentially has paranormal powers..._annnnnnd_...you don't have any idea how we're supposed to fix any of this."

Matt tilted his head, considering, then shrugged. "Yeah, I think you've pretty well got it all wrapped up in a bow there."

"My _God_, I hate you."

"Look, you aren't making things any easier on our situation here. I admit, maybe I screwed up by insisting on getting involved in this, but the fact is, we're involved now whether we like it or not, and it's not going to kill you to just try and help me with this so we can all keep ourselves safe."

"I don't have your guilt complex. But fine." Miz walked over and sat on the bed next to Chris, looking at him. "So you're Chris Jericho. How old are you again?"

"Um...um, um, I'm...I'm 18."

"And you're working on becoming a professional wrestler."

"Uh...yeah..."

"Okay, well here's the thing, Chris. Matt and I here are professional wrestlers. The place where you were was the arena where we were having a show tonight. What you probably don't remember, because of that big oaf knocking you around the backstage, is that you're part of a little mentoring program that we have going on right now."

"Mentoring program?" Matt and Chris asked at the same time, both with similar confused looks on their faces.

"Yes." Miz cast an exasperated look to Matt. "Don't act like you don't know about this, Hardy." He looked back at Chris. "See, before you head to wrestling school to actually start learning to wrestle, what happens is that you get assigned to a couple of guys already in the business. You shadow us a while, kind of learn the ins and outs of the business, get a feel for what the schedule is like, stuff like that. Once we decide that you're actually cut out for this, then we give you a letter to take to the school giving our approval, and then you start actually doing your training in the ring. With me?"

Chris blinked at him, eyes wide, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I get it...I just don't remember any of this-,"

"Well, like I said, that big turd knocking you around probably jolted a few things loose. By the way, Chris, that's lesson one. Don't get in the way of the huge dudes in the locker room, because they're likely to try and eat you for lunch."

Chris nodded slowly. "Yeah...I guess you're right."

"All right then." Miz looked over at a knock on the door, then stood, grabbing Matt and spinning him around, abruptly grabbing Matt's wallet out of his back pocket and handing it to Chris, despite Matt's indignant yelp. "Second rule, do what your mentors tell you. Take this and go pay for the room service."

"Y-yes sir," Chris stammered, taking the wallet and heading over towards the door, as Matt pulled away from Miz and slapped his hand belatedly for the intrusion.

"Christ, Miz, did you seriously just come up with all that on the fly?"

"Hey, we need him to behave and stay close to us and out of trouble, and we need him to not freak the fuck out. That wrapped up all the little loose ends for him."

"Man, you're like, the best liar ever. I'm almost jealous."

"You should be jealous. I'm the Miz and I'm-,"

"Finish that sentence and you'll be dangling off the balcony by your panties."

"You're no fun at all. Ever." Miz glanced over as Chris wheeled over the cart with three covered trays on it, looking back and forth between them. "Hey, all right, steak's here." Miz took the lid from one, grinning a bit, at the sight of salad and a baked potato with it. "All right, now this is the life."

Matt lifted the other two covers, then looked at Miz, raising an eyebrow. "Did you order anything for us to drink?"

Miz looked at him for a second, blinking, then muttered. "Hey, you can't expect me to think of everything, all right, Hardy?"

"Yeah, I'm starting to notice that." Matt took one tray and handed it to Chris, gesturing for him to sit down and eat. "I'll go get it. What do you want to drink, Chris?"

"Um...um, I guess a soda or something is fine, Mr. Matt...sir..."

"Just Matt is fine. Mike, what about you?"

"Don't call me fucking Mike!"

"I didn't call you fucking Mike, fucking Mike. I called you Mike. Now what do you want to drink, Mike?" Matt smirked faintly, obviously getting a little amused at the interchange.

Miz glared at him, then answered through gritted teeth. "Dealing with you makes me want a fucking keg of beer."

"Well you can't have a fucking keg of beer, Mike." Matt said, grin widening. "It has to come from the soda machine down the hall."

Miz continued to glare, then spat an answer at him. "Just bottled water."

Matt sort of saluted at him, then turned on his heel. "Chris, tell me if he does anything to my food." With that, he stepped out the door and shut it behind him.

"I should rub my nuts on it, that'd teach him...probably not the first time he'd have tasted nuts anyway...first time they weren't his brother's, I'm sure..." Miz continued to grumble under his breath, looking down and starting to saw at his steak with the provided knife, ignoring the incredulous look he was getting from Chris. After a bit, he looked up at him. "What?"

"Sorry, uh...Miz..." Chris ducked his head a little, looking down and starting to poke at his food as well.

"Oh, for...don't be sorry, kid. It's not your fault, I guess. Not currently, anyway." He looked up at him, still cutting away at the steak. "I mean, in a few years, you may step on some toes and it may come back to haunt you, but OWWWWohOWWW!" Miz jerked his hand away from the tray, standing and grabbing at it, ignoring the plate of food that fell to the floor from his lap. "Motherfuck it!"

"Oh my gosh, Miz, are you okay?" Chris asked, putting his plate aside and standing quickly.

"Just...just...agh...just cut myself, is all...Jesus those things are sharper than they look!" Miz looked down at his left index finger, wincing at the fairly deep slice along the end of it. "Oh shit, this is gonna be a bitch to get fixed, fuck!"

Chris chewed his lip, looking down at it, then hesitantly reached out, taking hold of his hand. "I...I think I can fix it..."

"What, you got a first aid kit in my pants? This might need a couple stitches, kid!"

"Here...just let me..." Chris carefully took hold of Miz's hand between his, holding the wound up with one hand, then holding his hand hand over it, fingers curled ever so slightly, as though palming an invisible baseball. He closed his eyes, forehead creasing as though with a deep concentration.

"What are you doing?"

"Hang on...this is kinda hard..." Chris lowered his head, a few strands of blonde hair falling over his face as he gritted his teeth a little.

Miz started to roll his eyes, but felt as though he could suddenly feel a slight heat over his hand. He looked down, eyes bulging as he saw a faint golden glow was coming from the space under Chris's hand, and he started to instinctively pull away. "What in the-?"

"It's okay," Chris whispered. "I can fix it. I want to help." He looked up at Miz, then lowered his head again in a deep focus. Miz looked on in silence, completely awestruck as he watched the bizarre gold glow, even as he could feel the pain in his cut finger ebbing away. When it was completely gone, Jericho opened his eyes, and the glow vanished as he took his hands away. Miz held up his hand, looking for the wound, and while there was still blood from where it had been cut, he could see no slice, no more bleeding, nothing of the sort, not even a scar. His cut had completely disappeared. He looked at Chris, who was looking at him with a growing apprehension on his face.

"How...how did you do that?" Miz asked, staring between Chris and his finger.

"It's okay, please don't be scared..." Chris said, wincing and stepping back. "I just wanted to help..."

"No, no, I'm not scared," Miz said quickly, reaching out to touch Chris's shoulder, trying to smile reassuringly even as he lied through his teeth. "You did help. You did. It's all better now."

Chris nodded slowly. "Okay...okay, I'm...I'm glad to..." He staggered against Miz, groaning.

"Hey...hey, kid, are you okay?" Miz caught him, turning and sitting him on the bed, brushing his hair out of his face, then gripping his shoulders to help him stay sitting up. Chris looked as though he'd just ran a marathon...his face was flushed, he had a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, and he was panting for breath.

"Yeah...I'm sorry. That's not easy for me, but...you looked like...like you were in a lot of pain..."

Miz chewed his lip. "How did you do that?"

Chris shook his head slightly. "I...I don't know. I've just...I've always been able to...since I was little. I don't...I never get hurt bad, I get better fast. I don't know what it is..." He looked up at Miz. "You aren't gonna tell, are you?"

"Tell who?"

"I don't know..."

Miz looked over as the door came open, and Matt stepped back in, carrying a couple of sodas and a bottled water. Matt blinked at the sight...Chris sitting and obviously flushed, Miz hanging onto him, and a tray of food flung onto the floor. "Jesus Christ, Mike, what are you doing?"

Miz straightened, shaking his head. "It's not what it looks like, you pervert." Miz looked back down at Chris, then over to Matt. "But I'll tell you what...I've decided that your little paranormal theory has some legs after all."


	4. Chapter 4

Matt leaned back against the headboard of his bed, sipping at a bottled soda as he looked at Miz, sitting on the other bed. They had called the front desk and requested a cot for the room, and after getting it set up, they'd put Chris to bed, Miz telling him along that he would need to get plenty of sleep and take his vitamins and things like that to be a pro wrestler. Matt hadn't quite managed not to snicker when Chris had insisted on saying his prayers before tucking in for the night as well. Matt had thought Miz would roll his eyes right out of his head, but fortunately just more or less grinned and bore it, and afterwards, in the way only teenagers could quite manage, he was asleep within a matter of minutes of his head hitting the pillow.

"So he healed you, huh?" Matt asked, looking over at Chris again.

"If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'." Miz held up his hand, showing the finger off again. "You saw all the blood."

"I did." Matt tapped his finger against his chin. "He must really trust you to have shown you that."

"Or it just scared him bad enough that he thought he had to act on it."

"Yeah, I imagine your glorious overselling of some minor injury would inspire that kind of reaction in a kid who doesn't know what a whiner you actually are."

"It would have needed fuckin' stitches, man!"

Matt made a dismissive gesture. "Anyway. That does explain a lot about him."

"It does?"

"Well, yeah. Think about it...Chris has wrestled for like, twenty years, and he's only been hurt maybe what, once, with the broken arm when he was young? Twice if you count the time he nearly caved his skull in on a bad moonsault and even then, he was up and going again within a day."

"I guess. Maybe he's just really lucky."

"He's beyond lucky to have gone twenty years in this business with just one major injury...and even then he was healed from it faster than he should have been."

"I think I should be concerned about how much you know about your coworkers and their lives."

"It's called reading a book, look into it some time."

Miz rolled his eyes. "Well, look at that freak Cena. He's been hurt and come back super-early twice."

"Yeah, but no one is denying that Cena is some sort of perfect genetic lunacy come to life." Matt shrugged. "Maybe it's two facets of the same sort of thing, and Chris and Cena can both do it. But even if it's something to that effect, Cena's wouldn't be as good because he still does get hurt. His career is just barely a decade old and he's already had more injuries than Jericho."

"And I guess it wouldn't matter anyway because this isn't about Cena, because he's not the one who's too young to buy beer right now."

"Yeah." Matt looked over at the cot again. "Maybe that's part of what Undertaker was after."

"What? His healing?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, for everything he can do, Undertaker's not getting any younger or in better shape. Maybe he wants that power for himself."

"Okay...this is all really straining my credulity, just so you know."

"You're the one who says Jericho healed his cut finger."

"Yeah, I know, I know!" Miz stood from his bed, starting to pace. "I know, okay, but I'm rapidly convincing myself I didn't actually see that because, you know, my God, Matt, this is completely fucking insane. It's just steadily getting crazier...first Undertaker's beating up some freak kid, then it's Jericho and he's de-aged, and he thinks it's 1989, and Undertaker de-aged him, and he can heal, and he healed me, and Undertaker wants him for a, a, a supervillain souffle or something!"

Matt snorted. " 'Supervillain Souffle' would be an awesome name for a rock band."

"I'm serious!"

"Yeah, okay, I know, I know." Matt leaned back again, twirling a strand of his hair absently around one finger. "But maybe that's...maybe that's it, you know? Maybe Taker wants Jericho's healing power for himself, to make himself better or stronger or something like that, you know what I mean?"

"Then why turn him into a kid? Why not just take it?"

"Maybe he can't just take it. I mean, if he could just take it, obviously, he would have just taken it. There's got to be more to it than that."

Miz shrugged and sat back down on his bed with a huff. "I don't watch enough science fiction for this shit."

"Yeah, we kind of do need a resident expert in the weird to help us with this." Matt shook his head. "Look, let's just sleep on it for tonight. Maybe tomorrow we'll wake up and this will have all been some kind of weird alcohol-induced dream or something."

"It can't be a dream. I've been trying to use a Jedi choke on you all night and you aren't flopping around on the floor yet."

"Look, I realize we hate each other, but can we just lay off the rage for a little while? I'm really tired, it's been a very long day, and I just kind of want to sleep and not worry about this anymore for a little bit."

Miz shrugged a bit. "Fine, whatever." He scooted up enough to lift the blankets and crawled under them, tucking himself in. "You get the lights, huh?"

"Yeah, all right." Matt turned on the bedside lamp, then walked over and flipped the big switch, coming over to his bed and getting under the covers as well, reaching out as soon as he did to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. For a while, they just laid quietly, the only sounds a very faint bit of traffic noise from outside the hotel.

"Matt?" Miz finally said.

"What, Mike?"

"Ugh. Anyway. You didn't tell Big Show you were with me, did you?"

"No, I didn't mention that."

"Okay, good. So right now he's at your hotel tearing your old room apart."

"Shit. I'm gonna have to figure out how to worm my way out of paying for all the damage he's gonna do."

"Yeah. Good luck with that, man." There was a rustle as Miz snuggled himself down more under the covers. "G'night, Fatty."

"Good night, you asshole."

( )

"Mike! Mike, wake up!"

Miz growled softly, blinking his eyes open, looking up at the slightly blurry figure over him illuminated by the lamp between the beds. "What, Matt? What could it possibly be?"

"Wake up, man!"

Miz grunted and sat up, rubbing his face. "This had better be a matter of life-changing importance, Matt."

"Look!"

Miz looked over, then scoffed and covered his eyes. "Oh my God, Matt, I did not just get woken up to see your schlong, did I?"

"No! It's my appendix scar!"

"Yeah, it's tremendously ugly, I've seen it on your big fat-,"

"No, it's gone!"

Miz blinked, then looked over at him finally, looking down at where Matt had slightly tugged down his shorts to show the area off. "What do you mean, it's gone?"

"I mean it's not there! Look! Do you see anything?"

"No, just your big gut! What's the big deal?"

Matt pulled his shorts back up. "I think Chris healed it."

Miz blinked at him a moment, then looked over at the cot. Chris was still curled up under his blankets, snoring very softly, more of a deep breathing than any actual snort sounds. "Did he get up and do it?"

"I don't think so, no, but..." Matt pulled his shorts down slightly again to look, running his fingertips slightly over the spot. "I mean, it's completely gone. No mark, no soreness, no nothing."

"What are you even doing up?" Miz fumbled and managed to catch sight of the alarm clock. "It's five o'clock."

"Well, I was asleep, and then I started getting these weird pains in my stomach, you know...it kind of felt like it did when my appendix first got all messed up. So I got up and went in the bathroom but after a few minutes, it kinda cleared up and just quit hurting, and I just...looked and...it was gone."

"But it didn't hurt when Chris healed my finger. Plus he was acted like he had to touch me to do it."

"Well, I don't know. Maybe it's only with fresh wounds. This hurt real bad for a little bit, and then it was gone and now my scar is gone."

Miz closed his eyes, scratching at his head. "I don't know what..."

"Miz, was your...did you...do something to your hair?"

"What? Oh my God, that's like the worst line I've ever heard, Matt, and it's late, and I'm tired..."

"It's purple again."

Miz looked up at him. "Purple?" He immediately crawled out of bed and beelined for the bathroom, hurrying over to the mirror and peering into it. Sure enough, the top patches of hair on his head, even though they were mussed from sleep, were a shade of deep purple, like he hadn't worn in several months. "What the hell! What did you do to my hair?"

"I haven't done anything to your hair, Mike," Matt said, coming into the bathroom behind him. "I've only been awake for a little while. And I don't think it was Jericho either because he's still sleeping, and I doubt he'd be particularly stealthy in dyeing your hair in your sleep."

Miz fluffed at his hair, grunting softly as he combed his fingers through it, still staring at the purple. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would my hair be purple? I haven't dyed my hair in a long time! I certainly didn't do it in my sleep, cuz you know I'd have had to drive somewhere and buy some because I don't just walk around carrying hair dye like I'm your brother or something like that!"

Matt shook his head, pulling his shorts down slightly to examine the patch of smooth skin again. "Okay, this is definitely weird then. His healing powers could explain this but I don't think it explains your hair turning unnatural colors."

"My hair didn't change color, did it?" Miz leaned closer, pulling his hair to part with his hands. "No, I have roots, they're brown. This is just a dye job. Except there was no dye involved!"

"Okay, there's definitely more going on here than just healing powers." Matt looked to Miz's hair, then scratched his own, making a face.

Miz sighed, standing back from the mirror, starting to speak in a sort of mocking tone. "Hey, Chris, aside from being able to healing hand people, do you have some kind of weird superpower where you can dye people's hair?" Miz glanced at Matt. "Jeff would be his very bestest friend in the whole wide world."

"I'm sure." Matt fixed his shorts. "So...what does this mean now?"

Miz leaned closer to look at his hair again, then settled back, looking at Matt. "Does it mean we have to handle it right now, or can we go back to bed until a decent hour?"

Matt sighed, putting his hands on his hips, thinking a moment. "If I wake up in some kind of pain again, we'll wake him up right then."

"Deal." Miz backed away from the mirror, staring at his hair until the last second, then turned, walking around to head for his bed, walking right by Jericho's bed. The blankets were pulled up to his chin, his hair loose and slightly curled around his face. "You know, he's kinda cute when he's being quiet and not using huge words he doesn't understand."

"Yeah, well, we know what he's gonna grow up to be, so I'm gonna try not to get too attached." Matt fixed his blankets and then crawled back under them, getting comfortable. "You get the lights this time."

Miz stood for a moment, watching Chris sleep. After a second, he reached down and lightly brushed the youngster's hair away from his face and over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'll get the lights," he murmured, turning and heading over, turning them off, then making his way back to his bed, crawling under the covers and curling up, shivering a bit at how much the sheets had cooled since he'd left the bed. He wrapped his arms around a pillow and held it so it was just right for his head, then settled down.

He didn't close his eyes, though, just laying and staring at the foot of the cot, seeing Chris shift very slightly in his sleep. Miz frowned a little...that kid was just making things so much more complicated than they had to be...and tomorrow night was Raw. Things were just going to get even weirder. What were they going to do with him then? Matt would have to head off for a Smackdown show, and Jericho would probably be due for Raw, but he couldn't do anything in the shape he was in now. And with Big Show and Undertaker both looking for him, what would that mean for them?

"I really, seriously hate you, Matt," Miz whispered, too quiet for Matt to actually hear him yet.


	5. Chapter 5

His cell phone buzzed, and Matt grunted, shifting a bit in bed, then rolling over to fumble for it, opening it to see who was calling and seeing it was just his alarm going off, 9 o'clock on the dot. He groaned a little and put it down, then put his face back into the pillow, snorting. "Too early..." he grumbled.

"You're the one who set the fucking alarm," Miz's voice drifted over, and Matt raised his head, looking over at the other bed, where Miz was sitting up, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Force of habit." Matt studied Miz's purple hair, then rolled onto his back, pushing the blankets away and pulling down the hem of his shorts, looking at his stomach. "Ah, that wasn't all just a crazy dream, then."

"Oh, everything that's happened, and a little cosmetic surgery is what you consider to be the crazy dream part of the evening." Miz finally lowered his hands, and saw Chris was sitting on the cot, already dressed again in the oversized suit, hands folded, apparently waiting patiently. "What are you doing?"

"I woke up already...I wasn't sure what you guys might need me to do so I wanted to be ready." Chris nodded slightly towards the room's phone. "I already ordered breakfast, I hope that's okay."

"Oh, God bless you," Matt said, scooting to get out of bed. "You're a very good kid."

"Apparently the fastest way to get through to you is through your stomach," Miz drawled out. "No wonder you have so many ex-girlfriends."

"First off, Mike, it's too early in the morning for your crap. Second, that was weak."

Miz rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Yeah, you're right. I can't do good insults until I've had my coffee." He scooted to the edge of the bed and got to his feet, stretching out. "You don't have to wear that suit, Chris, you can borrow some of my clothes."

"I just...figured I should try to look my best."

"We're wrestlers, kid, we don't need to look like businessmen. Just grab whatever's on top there and put it on." Miz gestured vaguely towards where his bag was.

"Well, according to Vince, we're supposed to look like professionals, but yeah. We fuck around with that rule pretty much constantly," Matt said, looking over as there was a knock on the door. "Your turn to pay, Mike."

"Yeah, whatever." Miz took a few bills out of his wallet and handed them to Chris. "Go get the food."

"Sure thing!" Chris hurried over to the door, moving to throw it open-and his eyes went huge and he let out a scream of terror, immediately bolting back into the room, running into the bathroom and locking the door behind himself.

"Oh shit! Oh crap, I'm sorry!" a booming voice came from the door, one that Matt and Miz recognized and made both of them stare at each other with huge eyes. "I thought I had the right room!"

Matt immediately hit the ground behind the bed and crawled under it, staying out of sight, as Miz turned to see Big Show pushing the door open, wincing a little. "Hey, man, I-Miz?"

"Uh...hey, Show," Miz said, reaching down to pull up a blanket and pull it around himself to more or less hide his underwear. "What can I do for you?"

Big Show blinked at him, then glanced towards the bathroom door. "Uh...I think I scared your...your friend there."

"Yeah, yeah...don't worry about him. Uh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for Chris. I don't suppose you've heard anything?"

"I haven't..._heard_ anything, no. Why, what's going on?"

"He went missing last night...I haven't been able to find any clues. But Matt Hardy called me last night and told me he had found Jericho's jacket, and then he hung up and won't answer my calls. So I'm trying to track that little bastard down and get some answers out of him. I heard from a few of the guys that you and he left together last night with some blonde kid, so...yeah, came here looking for him."

"What guys did you hear this from?" Miz said, letting just the right tone of scorn and disbelief into his voice. "I mean, really, Show, me going anywhere with that fat loser Matt Hardy? He's not even worthy to carry my bags, he's not even good enough to breathe my air, let alone for me to lower myself to share a space with him willingly. Being in the same backstage area with that wide load is more than enough for me." Miz tilted his head in the direction of the door. "And my friend there just got the poop scared out of him by you so I'd appreciate if you'd go ahead and head out."

Big Show half-growled, half-sighed, shaking his head. "All right, all right, whatever. If you see that punk Hardy, tell him I'm looking for him." He turned and stomped back out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

"All clear," Miz said, glancing back, and Matt hesitantly peeked out from under the bed.

"Wow. As I said last night, you're the best liar I've ever met."

"I wasn't lying. I really don't like you."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to pretend like I wasn't here. Thanks. Big Show probably wants to skin me alive by now." Matt wriggled out from under the bed, pulling his shorts back up as he did.

"And at any other time, I'd not only let him but actively participate, but we've got Chris to be concerned about right now. Speaking of which, he's still hiding in the bathroom."

Matt nodded, heading over to the door and knocking at it. "Chris? Hey, come on, it's okay. We're the only ones in here."

"Is the big man gone?" Chris's nervous voice came through the door.

"Yeah, he's gone, don't worry. Come on out."

The lock clicked, and Chris peeked out, looking over at the door as though not completely sure they were telling him the truth. He stepped out, blinking and pulling at the sleeve of his suit jacket. "That's the biggest person I've ever seen! He was even bigger than the guy from last night!"

"Well, he's usually an okay guy, he's just...kind of in a rotten mood right now," Miz said, giving Matt a withering look.

"Hey, it's not my fault he's pissed, okay, this is all Undertaker's fault. None of us would be in this situation if not for him."

"Yeah, well, you go out there and call him back and you tell him that."

Matt shrugged, going to his bag and starting to pull out his clothes for the day. "So, uh...what are we gonna do about tonight?"

Miz sat down, taking out some clothes and handing them to Chris. "Just put those on." He turned his attention back to Matt as Chris wandered back around the bed to start getting dressed. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, we're heading in two different directions. I've got a Smackdown show tonight and you have to get to Raw."

"Oh, so this is our custody hearing."

"Be serious. We do need to figure this out. I mean...we recognized Chris straight out of the box so it's quite likely other people will too. And they're gonna be questioning why he looks the way he does?"

"Why I look what way?" Chris asked, blinking.

"Never mind. There's a brand-new toothbrush in my bag, why don't you dig it out and go brush your teeth?"

As Chris obligingly went to do so, Miz stared at Matt. "You keep a brand-new toothbrush in your bag?"

"Live with Jeff Hardy for your entire life and then see if you don't start walking around ready for all sorts of bizarre catastrophes. A spare toothbrush is the absolute tamest thing I've ever had to keep on my person at all times."

Miz shook his head a little. "Well, I can't take him to Raw, Big Show is there. We're lucky he didn't get a good look just now or he'd have us both against the wall by our necks."

"Yeah, but Jericho's technically a Smackdown guy, so everyone there will be looking for him, too. Including Undertaker."

"Well shit." Miz rubbed his eyes. "So our options are he goes to Raw with me and I potentially get eaten like a chicken nugget by Big Show, or you take him to the Smackdown show with you and Undertaker has free reign to come after him again."

"Yeaaaah, basically, that sounds like it."

Miz laid back on the bed, rolling his eyes slightly, then sat back up, groaning. "All right, I'll take him."

"You will?" Matt tilted his head. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I can probably squirrel him away somewhere that Big Show can't track him down, give him a bag of chips and a soda and let him wile away in a locker room somewhere with a monitor until the show's over and we can get out of there."

"Well, you need to pay a little more attention to him than that. I mean, don't forget that he's twenty years in the past. He won't understand a damn thing he sees on our show now."

"Oh fuck, really?"

"Well, I assume so. If he thinks it's 1989, he probably doesn't know what high definition TV is, or digital cameras or the WWE name or the Internet or anything like that."

"So basically he's living in your personal hell."

Matt paused, then snickered. "Okay, I'll give you that one, that was pretty good. And you said you couldn't get any good insults out without your coffee."

"I do my best."

Chris came out of the bathroom, carrying the toothbrush with him. "Okay, I'm done with that."

Miz picked up the clothes and tossing them to Chris. "Go wash your face and grab a shower, get changed, whatever you need to do, then get changed. We'll go pick you up some new clothes when we leave here."

"Okay!" Chris turned and scampered right back into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

Matt sighed. "Okay. So if you take him with you, you're gonna have to do your best to explain to him why things seem so...off from what he's used to. And you'll have to try and minimize his exposure to that stuff because one futuristic thing too many might send him screaming for the hills."

"It's not like he's from the Dark Ages, Matt. Twenty years isn't all that much, he'll be able to grasp the majority of what he's seeing. There were cell phones and laptop computers and things like that back then...bulky as shit, but they existed."

"Still, there's a big difference between a laptop in a suitcase and an iPhone."

"Oh, relax, Matt. I've babysat little cousins and kids before, and Chris is 18 so he's old enough to be on his own for the most part. Plus he's terrified after what happened with Taker so he'll avoid contact with the others. I'll take him to pick out some clothes that fit and maybe a hat to hide his face some, we'll go to Raw, I'll make up some lie about who he is and why he's with me, and I'll hide him in a locker room and we'll be done and out of there before you've even made it through your fifth meal of the day."

"I'm serious, Mike. You can't just dump him off and forget about him, you've gotta watch him."

"I know what I'm doing. In fact, I can possibly do you one better by getting someone who might be able to help us out with this."

Matt blinked. "You can? Who?"

"I'm thinking Shawn Michaels."

"Shawn Michaels? Why Shawn Michaels?"

"Well, come on, think about it. Who's the most absolutely opposite of the Undertaker in every single way? Who also has a serious grudge against the Undertaker and would do just about anything to stick it in his craw, including helping us to fix his de-aged victim?"

"I don't think born-again Christianity teaches any ways to reverse demonic spells."

"But it couldn't hurt, now could it? If it's something evil, maybe a good dousing with holy water can help with that. Anyway, we can't come up with anything else, so at the very least, maybe Shawn can recommend something for us to do."

Matt crossed his arms. "Are you sure we can trust him?"

"We're not tag teaming with him, we're just getting some help and advice from him on how to fight against Undertaker. We'll just make sure not to stand near any plate glass windows."

"Well...I don't like it, but you're right, we don't have any better ideas. We can't do this on our own, and Shawn has a lot more experience than we do in...most things. Plus he has access to a lot more names than we do and if he can't do anything, he probably knows someone who can." Matt nodded. "Okay. If you can get Shawn to help, bring him and Chris to Smackdown with you Tuesday night and meet up with me, and we can make our next move from there."

"Hold up, you want me to bring Chris to Smackdown where Undertaker is?"

"As long as you and maybe Shawn are able to help me with keeping an eye on him, I don't see any reason it'd be too much trouble. Undertaker might be willing to knock you and I around but he'll think twice about messing with Shawn too."

"This is all assuming that I'm able to get Shawn to help."

"Just try to hold your more charming personality qualities in check and I'm sure it'll work out."

Miz rolled his eyes, but when there was another knock at the door, he headed over. "After breakfast, I can't wait to be rid of you."

"Same here, my man, same here."


	6. Chapter 6

Miz sipped his coffee as he made his way through the backstage area, one hand holding onto the cup and the other clutching Chris's wrist, guiding him along to keep him from wandering off. He was early, it was probably one of the only times in his life he would be among the first Superstars to arrive at the arena, but he had a good reason, after all. He wanted to stash Chris away somewhere before he could get in trouble, and there was a great deal of trouble an innocent kid could get into in a place like this.

It was actually a little startling, after knowing the surly, pompous asshole that he was normally, to see what a sweet, agreeable kid Chris was at this age. Oh, there were hints of the grown-up Jericho, no question. They'd listened to an oldies rock station in the car on the way to the department store and Chris had crooned loudly with any song he knew. Upon coming to the store, he'd beelined straight for a rack of shiny rock star shirts. He spent an inordinate amount of time fixing his hair and fluffing it in any mirror he came near. And he'd politely insisted on correcting the grammar of one of the store clerks when the woman had misquoted some old movie Miz had never heard of.

But at the same time, he used please and thank you, had a constant warm smile on his face, actively blushed when complimented on being "such a nice young man" by an old lady he'd held the door for, and he'd given Miz no problems yet, following him quietly and doing what he was told with no question. Even now, Miz could tell Chris was practically bursting over with the excitement of being backstage at a large wrestling show and was looking around all he could. But he didn't fuss over Miz's pulling him along, didn't question or whine or complain, just walked with him and observed as much as he could while he could. He was just a normal, slightly bubbly teenager who, despite being a legal adult, still was showing his youth.

Mizreached his locker room, pushing the door open with his free arm, leading Chris inside and letting go of him only when the door had drifted shut behind him. "All right," Miz said, shifting his gym bag off his shoulder and onto the nearest bench. "Now what I need you to do is change into your new clothes and put mine back in my bag, then you just sit down and wait till I get back from hunting for someone. I shouldn't be too long. Got that?"

"Uh-huh," he said, bobbing his head in an enthusiastic nod, putting down the shopping bag he'd been carrying and crouching to start pulling things out of it. Miz took another long gulp of his coffee, then headed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind himself, starting down the hall.

It only took a few minutes to ascertain that Shawn Michaels hadn't arrived yet, which annoyed Miz to no end. He caught a backstage worker against a wall and ordered the man to keep an eye out, and to come let him know the very instant HBK arrived. After that man scuttled off, Miz consider and decided to spread the word through the backstage masses, so he tapped a few more workers and repeated the message, making sure they understood how important it was. Satisfied after sending the fourth one fleeing, he started to make his way back towards his locker room, trying to figure out how to keep Chris entertained for a few hours without causing him to wonder why, as part of his "apprentice program," he wasn't actually being allowed anywhere near any of the wrestling.

He'd just formulated a plausible-but-shaky lie and was trying to iron out the details when he noticed the door to his locker room was very slightly ajar, and he could hear two voices conversing inside. Miz blinked and charged inside quickly. "Chris!"

Chris visibly startled from where he was sitting on one of the room's benches, eyes wide as though he'd been caught causing great trouble. He'd already changed into his new pair of jeans and a red dress shirt with a faint silver pattern woven into it, with Miz's borrowed clothes in his lap, neatly folded, apparently just about to be put away before the...interruption had entered. The interruption that bore the shape of Kofi Kingston, standing there in that ugly tracksuit of his, with that usual infuriating grin on his face.

"Well, hi there, Mike the Mizanin," Kofi said cheerfully, crossing his arms somewhat. "What are you up to?"

"What are _you _up to?" Miz demanded, coming over to step between him and Chris.

"I just came into this room by mistake, but I ended up having a very pleasant conversation with 'Chris' there before you came charging in."

"Well, ain't that special for you? Now get out of my locker room."

Kofi raised an eyebrow, but still smiling. "Is there anything you might like to confess, Miz?"

"Yeah. You're ugly and you smell bad. Get out."

Kofi shook a finger at him, clicking his tongue in a slightly scolding sound. "Miz, my friend, I must admit that I am not precisely what one would call a genius, I have no problems with that. But I don't have to be to be able to tell that something strange is going on, that you're involved, and that you might just be in over your head with it."

"Since when am I your friend?"

"Admittedly, you're not." Kofi leaned sideways just enough to see Chris, flashing another brilliant smile at him, then straightening to look Miz in the eyes. "But I have just made a new friend, who quite reminds me of an old enemy of mine. Now how might that be possible?"

"You're terrible at facial recognition. Now would you just get the hell out of here?"

Kofi sighed, rolling his eyes slightly, shifting back and putting one hand on his hip. "Look, Miz, playing aside. What the hell is happening? You think I don't recognize Chris Jericho even if he is noticeably younger and has more hair? He looks almost exactly like he did back in old ECW and WCW days. Everyone in this locker room either grew up watching him or was actually on the roster with him at the time. Something serious has obviously happened."

"What the hell is with you people? Am I the only person in the world who doesn't assume something crazy upon seeing something unusual?"

"Miz, we run with a pack of animals who are capable of some supremely crazy things. We share space with people who should have been locked up and committed several times over and yet we get away with it simply by nature of our business. There's at least two people on the roster at the moment with actual documented supernatural powers, and at least two more with genuinely superhuman physical abilities. We have people who run the gamut from born-again Christians and devout Catholics to atheists and all the way up to Satanists and voodoo practitioners, all of them regularly showing their wares in public and sometimes going into open battle against each other. And we all accept all of this without so much as blinking. So actually, I'm more surprised at the notion that you wouldn't consider an oddity when you see it than you must be at the thought that the rest of us have no real trouble with it."

Miz stared at him silently for a moment, scowling, then shook his head, rolling his eyes, taking hold of Kofi's arm and walking him to the other end of the locker room, speaking to him quietly enough that Chris wouldn't be able to hear. "Fine. Matt Hardy and I think Undertaker kidnapped Jericho and de-aged him into the 18-year-old boy you've been talking to and we can't figure out why, but we're trying to protect him so I told Jericho he's with us right now because he's our apprentice learning the ropes of the wrestling business and then I brought Jericho here with me to keep him away from the Undertaker on Smackdown and and to track down Shawn Michaels because we figure he's holy enough to be able to help us fight Undertaker and I'm trying to keep him hidden because yes, obviously, he still looks like himself, and Big Show is hunting for him because he knows the older version of Chris is missing. There. What do you think of _that_?"

Kofi nodded slightly at the run-on sentence, rubbing his chin, then looking at Miz. "That everything?"

Miz grunted and stammered a moment, finally spitting it out. "Wh-wh...wh-what else could there be?"

Kofi shrugged. "Just checking. Need some help with this?"

"Whuh-oh my God, am I stuck in the middle of the Justice League with all you happy Harrys wanting to always help people out?"

"Hey, some of us are just good people who do good things. Now, do you want my help or not?"

Miz groaned, rubbing his forehead. "I hate everyone in this business."

( )

Matt pushed open the door from the parking lot and made his way into the garage, striding through, pulling his suitcase along behind him. He glanced around a little more often than usual, keeping his eyes peeled. It wasn't unheard of that Undertaker might be seething at him and come after him, so he was trying to stay alert.

That was the only thing that kept him from knocking somebody over with a door as he pushed through it, detecting a set of crutches and catching the door before it could fling open all the way. "Oh, sorry, almost hit you," he said absentmindedly.

When the person hobbled around to look at him, Matt sort of wished he hadn't stopped the door.

"Matt Hardy, my old nemesis," Edge said, leaning against his steel crutches, foot in a heavy orange cast, but with that usual grin of lecherousness or at the very least evil on his face.

"Oh for God's sakes, Edge, what are you doing here?"

"I got called in to negotiate contract stuff to see about possibly doing color commentary while I'm still rehabbing my foot. Why are you here? The buffets are all on the other side of town."

"Come on, Edge, you can do better. That'd be like me making fun of your piano teeth. Get creative with it."

"Meh." Edge shrugged slightly. "Seriously, though, not even you're ever this early."

"I had a rough night." Matt started to walk off.

"Hey, wait up," Edge said, starting to make his way along beside him. "I haven't had a chance to bother you in a while."

"After all these years, I thought we were past all that."

"We are. That doesn't mean it's not still fun to push your buttons once in a while."

"Well not right now, I'm not in the mood. You haven't seen the Undertaker anywhere, have you?"

"Undertaker? What the hell did you and or Jeff do to him this time?"

"It was me, and I stole one of his virgin sacrifices from him sort of by mistake."

"Really? God, you're stupid."

"Yeah, I've been having that mental conversation with myself for quite a few hours now."

"So what are you gonna do tonight?"

"Lock myself into my room, don't come out until I absolutely have to, and in those times, scurry like a frightened rat from place to place and pray to God Undertaker isn't actively looking for me."

"Not the greatest plan you've ever come up with."

"Well, you know me."

"Yeah, I do know you." Edge tilted his head. "You're gonna get killed without my help."

"I'd be just as likely to get killed with your help, and I'd also not have to put up with you."

"Yeah, but you're just not devious enough to scooch around here on your own without getting in trouble. Granted, I can't do much more than bobble around on this bad leg, but I can at least tell you what _I_ would do to save my own hide."

"And what do you get out of this?" Matt asked, giving him a slightly sour look.

Edge grinned. "The pleasure of your company, of course."

"For the last time, I'm straight and I'm not gonna sleep with you."

Edge smirked. "Ah, for fuck's sake, Matt. I've already slept with your brother and I know that Jeff wasn't exactly totally gay beforehand so-,"

Matt's face was pure horror. "AHHHH, la la la la la la la la la la la la!" Matt yell-sang, covering his ears and continuing to sing-song as loud as he could. "No no no no no, I can't hear you talking about sex with my brother I can't I can't hear it LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!"

"Matt, I-,"

"_LA LA LA LA LA LA LA_!"

Edge let go of one crutch just enough to smack Matt hard on the shoulder. "Knock that shit off. You know I'm just messing with you."

"I'm never entirely sure what to make of you talking about any kind of sex," Matt said, but he did lower his hands. "Okay, look, fine. You can give me some pointers or whatever you think you gotta do, but you're probably just going to get in my way."

"At least it'll be entertaining. I didn't really want to be a color commentator anyway. Those guys suck."

"All right, come on. You should probably at least sit down or something."

"Sit in your lap?"

"Don't push it."


	7. Chapter 7

Kofi sat on the bench with Chris, chatting with him amicably about whatever seemed to come to their mind at a given moment, while Miz paced back and forth. He grunted, mumbled, huffed, and kicked at the floor, glancing at his watch about every other minute. Eventually, Kofi looked up from his conversation, rolling his eyes a little.

"Man, could you settle down? Shawn will get here when he gets here, you can't make him show up sooner by carving a groove in the floor."

"Shawn?" Chris asked, tilting his head a little. "Shawn...Michaels? Like, _the_ Shawn Michaels?"

"Not exactly as you might know him, but sure, he's on his way," Miz said, nodding absently, looking at his watch again. "It's after lunch, that asshole should have been here by now. If I find out the crew guys didn't send him to me, I'm going to start knocking their heads into walls."

"Good call. That'll make sure they want to help you from now on," Kofi said, a hint of rarely heard sarcasm drifting into his tone.

"Hey, they're the help, I'm the talent, they should do what I say!"

"That is not a healthy attitude to have, Miz. You wouldn't be a talent without them here doing all the grunt work for you."

Miz scoffed and made a sort of dismissive swat. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, save it for an afterschool special." He glanced at his watch yet again, then threw his hands in the air. "Screw this, I'm going looking for him. There's no way that fartknocker isn't here by now. He's always going on and on about being a good example to the rest of the crew and crap like that so he's-,"

There was a knock at the door, a second before it opened, and Shawn Michaels made his way inside, wearing a gray suit with the tie loosened and the sleeves rolled up, looking rather annoyed as he dropped his gym bag next to him, glaring around the room only a split second before lighting his gaze on Miz. "Mike Mizanin, I have been stopped and harassed by no less than six tech people that you are going around the backstage in a tear looking for me, demanding that I be sent to see you as soon as I arrived. I'm having a really spectacularly bad day already. I obviously had a rough night last night, Hunter's not speaking to me, I got a call from my wife right after my match about my daughter needing massive dental surgery, my rental car had a flat tire _and _I got pulled over for having a brake light out, and I just found out that my cell phone charger is dead so I don't have my cell phone and I'm expecting a call from my agents. And now, now, of all days, you've suddenly decided you feel like starting something with me. So what is it, Miz, what can you possibly have to add right now that can make my day any more complete than it already is? You calling me out for a match, you wanna try and get one by on the old man, you don't have a tag team to challenge DX with, so what is it, huh? What in the _hell _could it possibly be?"

Kofi stood, clearing his throat, stepping over and holding up his hands. "Don't fret, Shawn," he said. "Miz did not go looking for you to call you out or challenge you or anything like that. As a matter of fact, he and I kind of need your help with something."

"And I can pretty well promise you that my night last night was a lot worse than your's," Miz muttered.

Shawn crossed his arms, still apparently fuming somewhat, but voice taking on a somewhat measured level of control as though he were focused hard on not snapping their heads right off. "All right. Then what...do you want?"

Miz turned, pointing to where Chris was sitting on the bench, staring at Shawn with enormous eyes. "We need some help with him."

Shawn glanced over, silent a moment, just staring back. "Who is that?" he finally asked, holding up a finger a moment before pointing at the young man.

"Is that really Shawn Michaels?" Chris asked, looking over at Kofi and back again quickly, voice filled with awe. "Oh my gosh, he looks so much younger on TV! I thought he was closer to my age! He's like, old!"

Kofi grunted and coughed a couple of times in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter, while Miz flat out snickered. Shawn just continued to stare at the youngster as Chris stood, staring right back at him. Kofi managed to clear his throat and stepped over, putting a hand on Shawn's shoulder. "Um, Shawn...this is Chris. He's actually quite a big fan of your's and he's going to be hanging around with us for a little while, you get?"

Shawn cocked an eye towards Kofi, eyebrows coming together in not quite a frown. "What?"

"Hey, Chris," Miz said quickly, stepping over and grabbing a couple of things out of a bag, pushing them into Chris's hand. "Go brush your teeth."

"What? Why? I already brushed them."

"Wrestlers need strong teeth. Go brush them again. Do a really good job of it."

Chris studied him a little dubiously, but headed for the bathroom at the back of the locker room, staring at Shawn as long as he could before opening the door and stepping into the bathroom.

"Eventually, I'm going to have to think of some other way to distract him," Miz mused quietly.

"Why do you two have a kid who looks exactly like a mini snot-nosed version of Chris Jericho?"

"Well, because that is a mini snot-nosed version of Chris Jericho," Kofi said. "From what Miz told me, he and Matt Hardy rescued him from the Undertaker, who was trying to do something evil with him, and things are just getting a little bit steadily weirder."

Miz blinked, then held a hand up. "Um, Kofi, I did mention the part where Jericho seems to have some sort of weird healing powers, right?"

Kofi and Shawn both glanced at him in a brief silence, then Kofi, tilted his head, making a somewhat queer face. "Um, no. No, I, uh...I don't know if that part got brought up."

"Right, well." Miz clapped his hands together and rubbed them slightly. "He has some sort of weird healing powers, too."

"Wait, wait, wait," Shawn said, putting his fingertips to his forehead and rubbing slightly, apparently from what seemed to be a fierce headache. "Undertaker was trying to do something evil to him?"

"Yeah."

"And something evil involved making him look twenty years younger?"

"Not just look twenty years younger," Miz said, shaking his head some. "Actually is twenty years younger. He thinks it's the year 1989. He keeps ranting about some horrible movie called 'The Chocolate War' that I've never heard of but am never going to see after hearing him raging about how awful it is."

"And you and Matt Hardy...rescued him..."

"Admittedly it was sort of an accident. I was just going along to watch a fight. Matt was the one who actually got involved and I've just been more or less dragged along for the ride the entire time. Matt's at the Smackdown taping now trying his best to keep an eye out for Taker so that Chris'll be safe here, but Big Show is looking for his tag team partner, too, you know, so...yeah. Um, we have a lot of problems. And I figured you know, you have a lot of problems with Undertaker and you know lots of people in the business who have all kinds of weird stuff going on, so I thought...maybe I'd ask you for help."

Shawn stared at him a moment, then looked to Kofi. "And how do you get involved in this?"

"I took a wrong turn into the wrong locker room and more or less faulted my way into it. I figured with Miz's delightful personality, he could use someone like me to act as a buffer between him and any other human being there was."

"God, people act like I'm some kind of subhuman bastard!" Miz said, throwing his hands in the air. "I mean, good lord, I volunteered to babysit Chris here so he wouldn't be anywhere near Undertaker, even though if Big Show finds out what's happening he'll make a Miz-burger out of me!"

"You do have a tendency to grate on the nerves slightly, though. Even when you're doing the right thing, you're kind of a jerk about it."

"I am not a jerk, you fake Jamaican douchebag!"

Kofi shrugged faintly, then looked back at Shawn. "That aside, this is serious. Undertaker so far as I know hasn't done any of this mystic evil soul stuff in a very long time, so if he's up to it again, it can't mean good things for any of us."

Shawn shrugged faintly. "We're Raw guys, he and Jericho are Smackdown guys, and Jericho's a son of a bitch. He tried to blind me, end my career, and he punched my wife in the mouth. Why would I help him? So far as I care, he and Undertaker can tear each other to pieces."

"Normally, Shawn, that'd be exactly my sentiment too," Miz said. "But you can't just think short-term on this. Imagine Undertaker starts doing this horrible stuff now and he starts with Jericho, and no one cares. Okay, maybe next he goes after some other bastard like maybe, I don't know, CM Punk. Still no one cares. Well sure, he might do all this stuff on Smackdown to assholes that no one cares about, but eventually he'll run out of assholes, and maybe he'll make his way to Raw, either through a draft or just because he decides he's big and bad enough to just do it anyway."

"Besides, that little guy in the back isn't that same Jericho who hurt us," Kofi said. "He's an innocent, he doesn't deserve what's gonna happen to him if we don't help."

"And you might be the only chance he, and we, have," Miz finished.

"Did you two practice this before I got here, or what?" Shawn asked, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips, glaring at the two of them.

"Actually, no, we're pretty much just making this up as we go. Not bad for ad-libbing, is it?"

"I was just thinking we actually are making a very decent team," Kofi said, nodding.

The bathroom door came open again, and Chris came all but skipping out, hurrying over to Miz and grinning widely, obviously trying to show off his teeth as much as possible. "Is this a good enough job?" he asked, still keeping his teeth bared, so his words came out a little slurred.

"Uh, yeah...it's a very good job. Good white shiny teeth," Miz said.

Chris nodded, then turned to Shawn, looking down almost shyly before looking right back at him. "Mr. Michaels, I'm, uh, I'm uh, honored to meet you and all, it's really really neat to get to meet you in person, I've watched you on TV and I'm a really big fan of your work, I honestly, you know, I have, um, I would really love to be just like you in wrestling, I want to do everything like you, you know? So, uh, just wanted to say it's a real, real honor-,"

"Okay, Chris, that's enough," Miz said, taking hold of his arm and pulling him back a little. "Don't act like such a mark."

"What's a mark?" Chris asked, as Miz guided him to sit down on the bench again.

Shawn held up a hand, closing his eyes and working his jaw slightly, as though there were a faint pain in it, or that he was having trouble formulating words. "You guys are serious, aren't you?"

"Incredibly serious," Kofi said, nodding. "Unless Miz is a much better prankster than either of us could have either anticipated, and even if he is, he wouldn't have Matt Hardy in on it."

"Exactly. If you guys need proof, call up that fatty fat fat and ask him about it, he'll tell you the exact same story," Miz said, scowling slightly. "This whole thing is all his fault anyway."

"And he's at Smackdown?" Shawn asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We have enough problems as it is. He wasn't about to get in trouble for skipping work too. Our plan was for me to bring Chris with me here, see if we could get help from you, and then tomorrow I'll bring Chris to meet him at Smackdown and we'll all confront Undertaker together. Safety in numbers and all. Unless you were wanting to help us out and had any better ideas..." Miz managed to work up a sort of tenuous smile. "Please don't make us have to do this on our own. So far we really suck at it."

Shawn stared at him a moment, working his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed, apparently deep in thought. He glanced at Kofi, who had the same usual faint perma-smile on his face, then over at Chris, who was sitting on the bench, quiet, but still watching them, brushing his hair back behind his ears, blue eyes fixed on Shawn. Shawn sighed a little, shrugging out of his suit jacket and going over to sit on the bench next to Chris. "Hi, kid. What's your name?"

"I'm Chris, Chris Jericho. Sorry I said that you looked old, it's just, you look a whole lot different on TV than you do in real life. I thought your hair was blonder than that. See, I started bleaching my hair like this because your hair looks blonde on TV..." Chris winced. "I'm sorry, I talk too much when I'm nervous..."

Shawn nodded slightly. "That could explain a lot."

"What?"

"Nothing. So you got on the bad side of a big scary guy named Undertaker, huh?"

Chris cringed a little, hugging his knees slightly. "Yeah...the first thing I really remember was that he had me up against the wall, and his eyes were..." He shuddered a little. "His eyes were just...they were all white and scary and there was this...it was so cold in there and I just started kicking, I just wanted to get away from him, and he just got mad and started throwing me...I didn't mean to do anything bad, I just...I don't even know what I did."

Shawn nodded a little. "Problems with the Undertaker, huh?" Shawn blew out a breath, looking over at Miz and Kofi, back to Jericho, back to Miz and Kofi, and finally let out a sigh of discomfort. "I never have quite gotten over Wrestlemania. I guess that could be as good a reason as any for me to dig into my old bag of tricks and see about being a dickhead to the Undertaker."

"Thank you God!" Miz said, clapping his hands together. "There is finally someone involved in this other than me who isn't a complete moron!"

"Has your hair grown since I've been here?" Kofi asked suddenly, looking a little baffled.

Miz blinked, then looked over at him. "What?"

Kofi gestured slightly. "Your little mohawk thing you usually have is kinda grown out or something. You got kinda longer hair now."

Miz stared at him, then turned, heading past the others and to the bathroom, shoving the door open and running over to the nearest mirror, patting at his hair as he stared at it. The purple was gone, it was all back to it's natural brown color, and it was slightly longer than he'd kept it in several years. "Oh _hell_!" he grunted. "This is still happening?"

"What's still happening?" Kofi asked, peeking in the door, with Chris and Shawn coming along, looking respectively concerned and mildly annoyed.

"Okay..." Miz straightened, hands on his head, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth in obvious irritation and frustration. "It's not that I want to keep adding layers to this crazy cake, but...there's one more thing..."


	8. Chapter 8

Matt checked the text on his phone, nodding some as he sent a message back to Miz, then tucked the phone back into his pocket, nodding to Edge, who was settled on the bench in the locker room they were hanging out in, crutches propped next to him. "Miz has Kofi and Shawn on board, they're going to come and help us out."

"You're really serious about all this, aren't you?" Edge asked.

"Yeah, Edge, I'm really serious about all this. Unlike you, I'm not a pathological liar."

"I never lie."

Matt rolled his eyes faintly. "Thank you for making my point for me." He scooted to the far end of the bench and sat down as well, rubbing his forehead. "Okay, getting Shawn was the plan. So, uh, I guess we just try to stay away from Undertaker until we meet up with all of them."

"Your planning ability is matched only by your ability to find a decent girlfriend, Matt."

"Hey, I get them and you steal them. You tell me which is more pitiful."

"Touche." Edge rubbed his chin a little. "So what the hell could the dead man want with a teenaged Jericho? I mean, if I were going to pummel that brat's face in, I'd want to do it now, not twenty years ago."

Matt shrugged some. "Well, there's a couple of things. Chris seems to have some kind of weird power, for one. For another, since we've been around him, Miz and I have both been having weird things happen to us."

"Weird how?"

Matt lifted the hem of his shirt, touching the spot where his scar had once been. "Like that. This is where my appendectomy scar is supposed to be, but it's gone. And Miz's hair is changing colors and growing out really fast. It's bizarre and the weird shit about it is that it's completely random. There's no real explanation for what's happening."

"And it's just you guys?"

"So far as I know, just us." Matt winced a little. "At the risk of giving you fodder, I'm losing weight, too. I've had to hitch in my belt a notch and these pants fit perfectly at the start of the day."

"Yeah, your face looks different too, now that you mention it. I thought something was weird but I figured it was just because I hadn't seen you in a couple months and you had been in some sort of terrific un-disfiguring accident."

"You're so kind." Matt shook his head a little. "But I'm seriously starting to get concerned. Chris admitted to his healing powers but he can't explain what's going on with me and Miz. And I've read too much Stephen King in my day to not get alarmed about things like vanishing scars and weight loss and hair suddenly turning purple."

"Yeah, that is awfully freaky, dude. Good thing you've got Shawn coming to help you out with that."

"So...that's settled. So now all I have to do is not get rounded up by the Undertaker until my backup arrives and it'll all be gravy. As long as I just keep low and don't get involved in anyone's drama, I should be able to skate under the radar."

"Matt, we're backstage at a wrestling show. How the hell are we gonna stay out of anyone's drama?"

"By locking the door and refusing to come out for anything except my match cue, a bomb, or a fire. And I'd have to see the fire."

Edge shrugged a bit, reaching over to pick up his crutches and grunting as he clambered to his feet, adjusting his feet until he was standing more or less comfortably. "Well, before we go holing up, I could use a soda. I'll go fetch. Anything for you? Rack of lamb, cow leg to gnaw on, a Linkin Park CD and a sharp knife?"

"A ginger ale and get yourself a nice big case of shut-the-fuck-up."

Edge made a sort of salute, then made his way to the door, elbowing it open and heading out. Matt rubbed his temples, sitting down on a bench and dragging over his gym bag, figuring he'd go ahead and change into his tights before Edge got back, to avoid giving the lech anything more to look at than he normally saw. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants down, kicking them off, reaching for his tights...and he blinked at the sight of his knee, the one that he'd injured a few times before. He hesitated, then probed at it, turning his leg and leaning down as best he could to look it over.

That scar was gone as well.

"Well...son of a bitch," he muttered. "Maybe we should have called Stephen King." He probed the smooth skin a moment more, then grunted, standing and testing his knee, wincing a little bit at a few small twitches of pain, but feeling nothing like it usually did...a whole hell of a lot better. Matt rubbed his forehead slightly, just looking down at his leg, then shook himself, getting his tights and pulling them on, making a face at the fit...loose around the waist but a bit tighter in his calves and thighs, but overall, they still seemed to work, so he sat down to start working on his boots as well.

He heard the door come open, and glanced up to say something to Edge, but raised an eyebrow when he saw that instead of Edge, CM Punk had wandered in, head tilted back somewhat, sneering at him. "Oh what now?" Matt grumbled, even as he finished lacing his boots.

"Just thought I'd come and check in on you, Matt boy," Punk said in that typically oily way of his, smirking as he clasped his hands together. "Been hearing all kinds of fascinating rumors about what you've been up to the last 24 hours."

"I need to look into a profession that isn't full of insatiable gossips, I see," Matt said, standing and crossing his arms. "What do you want?"

"I've come to offer you a choice, Matt," Punk said, putting his hands on his hips. "I'm working on starting up a little faction here and I'm fishing for a follower. I thought I might ask you, but...I'm more interested in something else now that I've been listening to you talk for a while."

"You've been _spying_ on me?" Matt snarled, fisting his hands at his sides.

"Just long enough to hear this interesting little story you're telling about Chris Jericho." Punk tapped his chin slightly, apparently deep in thought. "You look younger yourself, come to think of it, but that's probably beside the point..."

"Look, just walk away and I won't smack you around, Punk."

"Because you've always been so successful at smacking me around. You and your brother both have failed so very spectacularly in the past, but at least you aren't a complete loser like him-,"

Matt stepped in and kicked Punk square in the stomach, causing the man to grunt and double over. "Talk about Jeff again, you little bitch, we'll see where it gets you!"

Punk stepped back, glaring at Matt, then tried to throw a kick of his own, though Matt simply stepped backwards out of his range. "Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking about bringing you into my future society, you may not be taking the drugs but you're the strongest enabler that walks the planet! I'll have to look into your little tale about Chris and work through him instead!"

"You don't know anything about what's going on. You must be on some drugs yourself if you hear some crazy talk and take it all at face value. I've always had my suspicions about you, considering you can carry your luggage in those bags under your eyes!"

"Well, since you said that you've got a Raw contingent meeting you at Smackdown tomorrow night...and since all I have to do is watch Raw tonight and look for Jericho...then I guess we'll see," Punk sneered, backing up to the door, reaching back to crack it open. "I've already got one minion prepared to join my revolution, Hardy, and don't you forget it. Keep your place!" He stepped out and slammed the door shut behind him.

Matt marched over, flinging the door back open and yelling after Punk's retreating form. "Go suck on your bongwater, you dirty denying hippie! If I catch you spying on me again, I'll shove your head in the toilet, it'll be the cleanest your hair ever was!" He moved back to close the door again, looking over and seeing Edge standing there, leaning on his crutch and awkwardly holding two green soda bottles, an eyebrow raised.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked, as Matt reached out, grabbed the bottles, and headed back into the locker room, Edge following after him.

"Punk's been spying on me, so he thinks he knows about Chris. He's talking about followers and revolutions and shit like that. I'm a little worried that he has some kind of ulterior motive in mind."

"Well of course he does," Edge said, rolling his eyes as he moved over to sit down on the bench again, opening his drink and taking a few gulps. "He's a planner. I'm sure he's got about ten ideas piled up one on top of another. It's what I'd do if I were in his place."

"What is?"

"Okay, well, suppose you're evil. And supposed you're like him, you're evil with an ideal. Remember Right To Censor?"

"Unfortunately," Matt muttered, sitting on the floor cross-legged, sipping his own soda.

"Well then you're gonna have your eyes peeled for any way to get your message across, any way to inspire people that maybe your way is the right way, right? And invariably, you're actually going to luck your way into a few followers here and there, but you aren't satisfied just to have the people who are willing to follow you without any provocation. You want to prove that you can convert."

"It should really alarm me more that you have this mindset down so perfectly."

"La Familia. Anyway...converting is a way to prove that your way really is right and that other people, once they see the truth, have no choice but to go with it, to show that you're right and you're powerful and everything is just how it should be. But then aside from even that, you want someone who by their own way, can convert people just by their presence. Someone who'll get really popular or already is who you can mold into your own image, bring people to your side."

"I guess that's why he was thinking about me. But now he's threatening kid Chris..."

"Okay, now we're going to be dabbling in the obvious sci-fi-iness of this whole situation. Suppose there's a wrestler who, when he's behaving himself, is wildly popular, immensely talented, despite his jerktastic attitude and the fact that when he's being a bitch, he's being a super king bitch. Sorry, biased when it comes to Jericho right now. Aside from that...he's really an icon of the business, when he's in line, he's a really vital teammate, and people just adore them. Now imagine that somehow, you have the ability to have an influence on that wrestler during his formative years, an ability to bring him along with you during the height of your little group..."

Matt blinked. "You think he wants to bring Chris into this revolution he's forming?"

"Well, that's what I would do if it were me."

"Well, that's just fucking perfect!" Matt groused. "Now not only is Undertaker after all of us, not only are Miz and I going through bizarre physical changes, not only is Jericho a teenager, not only is his enormous tag team partner gunning for my neck, not only am I for some reason stuck with you, now on top of everything else, Punk wants to stick his nose in here! Goddamnit, I am never helping anyone ever again!"

Edge sort of toasted him with his bottle of ale. "Welcome to my world."

Matt groaned, rubbing at his face vigorously with both hands. "Fuck. You know what, as long as we're so royally fucked anyway, I have another idea." He started to clamber to his feet, grunting a little and adjusting his tights again.

"What now?" Edge asked, looking a bit suspicious of that proclamation.

"If I'm gonna get my ass kicked, it's gonna be while I'm trying to get to the bottom of this. So we're gonna go talk to the one guy back here who's gonna know Taker better than anyone else and see what he thinks about this." Matt brushed his hands furiously through his hair, then started for the door.

"You aren't seriously-,"

"If Kane doesn't have a clue, no one else will!"

Edge sighed. "And here I didn't bring my fireproof long johns. I knew I shoulda packed them." He hobbled up to his feet and hurried after Matt. "Wait up!"


End file.
